


when coffee became a romantic concept

by paresseux



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, im fucking swan queen but idk what this is going to turn out to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paresseux/pseuds/paresseux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma finds Lily, and brings her home. </p><p>(S4, Snow Queen nonexistent, may or may not be swan queen my emotions haven't decided)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. emma swan needs a friend

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't going to be very eloquent, isn't going to be a long first chapter, sorry. oh and hi

Her favorite thing was that she could bring her knees up to her chin. She's done it for as long as she could remember, cowering in corners of broken homes and industrially cheap metal chairs. She didn't feel helpless anymore, but the movement was instinctive so it remained. 

She watched the fog crawl across the windows of her car in this position. After her one year prison stint in Arizona, and the endless daily appointed "exercise" (which was really just asinine walks around a field littered with joints and dog shit), she never really wanted to see the sun again. Maine was blissfully at a 60 degree or lower at all times. She loved the feeling of heavy knit and smooth leather; clothing that encompassed all the warmth and protection she was never given as a kid. Not that Emma thought about these things. Clothes were clothes and her muscles were constantly tense for no reason and she kept personal belongings to a minimum to be "practical" and there's nothing psychologically wrong about these things. To her. And "to her" was really the only thing that mattered. 

Until Henry, anyway. Until family, then enemies, then an indescribable mix of both which became _Regina_. Regina was the only one that made her feel real. Like she wasn't fate's pawn used and abused to move the game along. She'd said she didn't want to kill Emma, and that was the first civil thing she'd said since Emma returned from the Enchanted Forest. It was admittedly desperate that she clung to this slim hope they'd be okay again. It wasn't enough to make her _feel_ okay, however, so Emma sought solace. She hugged her knees to her chest and she watched the only stoplight in town continually blink red and she was weirdly conscious of her breathing and she let her cocoa go cold. She'd lost track of the time ages ago, her conscience nagging at the back of her mind that her parents were waiting up for her in a quaint loft but she couldn't find it in herself to _care_. 

There was always so much touching, so much talking. Her hair put back in place or a hand held or an outrightly suffocating group hug. They wanted all of her-past, present, and future. They wanted to draw emotion out of her, like understanding her was atonement for abandoning her, for leaving the fate of thousands in her infant hands. She was smothered and she understood it as being unaccustomed to being cared for, but it was still dizzying all the same.

Emma sugar coated all answers to every inquiry about her time in the system. She figured they'd never need to know the sordid details, it was ridiculous to dwell, etc etc, all the excuses she used. It was pointless now, though. Emma was about to change the game. 

Bringing her past back to her present was probably a shitty idea. _The_ shittiest idea, maybe. But if she never looked for her she'd always wonder about the what if's. She'd never be able to rectify her teenage mistake. She wanted to come back full circle, be present in her present with all of her strings tied neatly in place. Lily tainted this picturesque happy ending she could have. She was the one string that whipped wildly and unrestrained and Emma needed a hold of it. Of her.

Maybe she just needed a friend. Maybe she was guilty about abandoning Lily all those years ago without letting her explain. Either way, her mind didn't register the cons of her actions as she sent a quick text to Regina telling her to keep Henry for the next week. She turned her phone off immediately after.

She sighed heavily and dropped her feet to the pedals. She maneuvered her bug into the lane and ignored the red flags at the edges of her vision. She drove to where her trust was first broken.


	2. where do you go! with your broken heart in tow!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last time I wrote for this fic it was winter, and A LOT has happened since then. So henceforth, this is no longer canon compliant.
> 
> xx your author, Dane

Obviously they would all see it as running. Emma, doing what she's best at. Emma, being selfish yet again. Whether or not these things are truly fact, she has yet to decide. She concedes to one definite truth: impulses have always ruled her actions. She'd be a fool to deny it, especially when she'd forgotten to say goodbye to the handful of people she loves in her haste to leave town. Logically, turning on her phone once more and sending her farewells is entirely in her power, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Regina knew, and that was enough.

 

Regina was a huge motivator in her departure. There was not a moment in the weeks of icy shoulders and need-to-know basis conversations that she didn't entertain giving up altogether. Despite the mayor's ire towards her being completely righteous and understandable, Emma couldn't help her own insecurities chipping at her. Another person she'd lost because she was constantly fucking up, constantly ruining what was good. She needed a breather. Finding Lily is hardly going to be a rejuvenating and relaxing spa day, but it'd be different.

 

The road stretched ahead of the bug in a perfectly straight line, flanked by ample greenery. It’d be hours before red brick and winding streets could indicate Boston is near. She still has some business associates left in the city and planned to use every resource available. Nostalgia borne from memories of her old profession pulls at the corners of Emma’s lips. She is humbled at the thought, the blessed ignorance of tight red dresses and dangerous situations that involved no witchcraft whatsoever. It is difficult to compare the hardness of her past to the evolved hardness she has currently. Surely she’s more trusting, more ready to love and be loved; however, old remnants of wariness and self preservation remained firmly in place. Most days she believes her survival continues because of these hardships that conditioned her. And on other days, the ones when the ticking of clocks seemed to slow, she cripples under the weight of her responsibility and how much happiness she has gained, only to flinch at the fear of easy loss.

 

Her eyes still shift to every corner of the room and she still partially hides Regina’s body with hers when they walk through streets because this is _normal_  now. She knows how fickle good fortune is, Shakespeare taught her this when she cowered under patchy bedsheets at 14. She grips her steering wheel tighter because _no_ , she is nearing 30 years old and she will never be helpless again.

 

She risks turning up her cassette tape radio to the highest volume in order to drown out her thoughts. She has a predictably large collection of 80’s tunes, and is soon lost in her screeched rendition of Love Will Tear Us Apart.

 

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

 

Roadside vendor apple in one hand and gas station coffee in another, she squints against the piercing sunlight to read the black-block lettering to the left hand side of the custard beige building:

SID’S BAIL BONDS

The business slogan still burns with red paint above the door: “Our Word Is Our Bond, Trusted Since 1986.” Emma was paid handsomely as a bondsperson, though most of her earnings went into the fabulous apartment she used to live in. She couldn’t remember if she ever did anything for fun. Certainly she had no friends to speak of, but she faintly remembered lone drinks in bars and slow boat rides in the harbor. All solitary activities, unless you counted the hapless one night stands after too many unbearably cold nights take its toll.

 

She walks in and everything is the same. Fake potted plants and lethargic bubbling of a grimy fish tank. Everything is neutral, nonthreatening. A Hail Mary attempt at comfort for those families beginning the long journey of having an incarcerated loved one.

 

Emma offers Linda the receptionist a self deprecating smile and she responds with a toothy grin. Linda is a petite brunette, the kind of woman who radiates safety and warmth, often caught wearing spring colors in autumn. She lets out a hybrid giggle-squeak in happy surprise. Linda is untreatably deaf, correspondences are restricted to emails and letters, and this suited the business just fine. It's Sid who does the yelling and the negotiations. Mostly the yelling.

 

Emma is rusty but she puts her food down on top of 2003 issue magazines, lifts her hands, and attempts sign language anyway.

 

_Sid mad still at I?_

 

Linda’s eyes light up immediately, moving her hands animatedly and Emma rushes to interpret.

 

_Of course not, you were always his favorite. Rob’s still working here and he drives Sid crazy. Rob still doesn’t know how to pick a trustable family, always running after someone. And he doesn’t have your kind of legs to lure them in, does he?_

 

Emma laughs for the first time in days.

_Right. She good? Keith well?_

 

 _Ah yes I’m doing lovely! Keith’s given up being wary about my job here, especially considering I make more than him._ Linda winks, then suddenly loses her playful demeanor in favor of a mildly concerned scrunching of her nose. She’d always been so expressive. _What do you need, Emma?_

 

Emma halts. _Predictable havent I?_

 

Linda stands and comes around the desk to hug Emma tightly and whispers in her ear. Emma knows she’s self conscious about the slow gargle of her speech, and only attempts to talk around those she cares deeply for. Emma feels her throat constrict at the familiarity, and- not for the first time- wonders how she could so easily leave people.

 

“Lahve yo oo. Sid’z free tooo ta lke.”

 

Emma holds tightly to Linda for a few more seconds before letting go and walking down the hallway to the right of the receptionist table to Sid Avoy’s office. There is no hesitation when she swings the door open and leans against the frame. There are a couple seconds of silence, until her charmingly grumpy ex-boss acknowledges her.

 

"Well hel-fucking-lo there princess, its ‘bout time."


End file.
